


Diletto

by GrapieBee



Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, Angst, Drama, M/M, Minor Character Death, Mute!Link, on hiatus as of 1/24/2018
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-25
Updated: 2017-07-27
Packaged: 2018-12-06 18:30:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11606451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrapieBee/pseuds/GrapieBee
Summary: He didn’t realize it then, but a small part of him had already fallen for the man with those true blue eyes.





	1. A Birthday

**Author's Note:**

> Who wants a Mob!AU? Me, that's who.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sidon goes out for his birthday.

The night air was warm and stale, just the way it should be in any good city.

For Sidon, what should have been a fun evening had turned extremely sour early on. Having a boyfriend break up with you via text was one thing. It’s was an entirely different monster when they do it on your birthday, especially when your social circles mixed as heavily as theirs’ did.

A quick text to the group chat, curt and to the point, killed any plans that had been laid, shutting off the phone once he had sent it. No way in hell was he going to listen to his phone go off all night with that bullcrap.

Mad and hurt though he was, he knew better then to turn off the secondary phone he kept on his person. Being the son of a mob boss, a notoriously strong one at that, meant that he always needed to have a way to be reached. The number was only known to a few and had only ever rung once. For as much as he wanted to be left completely alone, that was never going to be an option for him, not really.

Gritting his teeth at the thought, he pulled himself from where he sat in his living room and left with a sharp snap of the front door closing and the heavy thunk of the deadbolt being turned too quickly.

It was still his birthday, dammit. He was going to have some fun if it killed him.

The evening flew by him as, drink after drink, bar after bar, he slowly let himself forget that he’d just been dumped. He was careful to only go to bars he wasn’t well known at, where he could announce that it was his birthday and only a smattering of drunken applause accompanied it.

This was what he needed. This is what he wanted. To be unknown, to just be another drunk bastard at a bar.

It’s with this thought in mind, this one task at hand, that he finds himself on the very edges of his father’s turf. Another block or so farther and he would be breaking the one thing that kept them out of another full fledge war. Like a gold cap on a rotting tooth, it covered up the problem, but had every opportunity to fall of hit the wrong way.

He closes his eyes and sighs. The world wasn't spinning behind his closed lids yet, so he’d be plenty fine for another round. Or two, it would depend on how heavy the pours were at the next bar.

Pulling his personal phone from his pocket, he quickly turns it on, plugging in his password as he is prompted to. He’d be better off ordering a cab to get him back up the way he’d come and he could do this all over again if he so chose.

Immediately his phone receives an incoming call, the nickname of his newly made ex flashing across the screen as the device buzzed in his hand. A frown crawls onto his face at the sight and he is quick to pointedly press the ignore button. An onslaught of texts await him, most of them from the group chat complaining about him backing out and screaming at his ex for ruining the night. The other half are from the same person, ten of which are just the words ‘CALL ME’ written over and over again.

He skims the messages, promptly ignoring two more incoming calls as they appear, and his blood boils at what they say.

‘It’s not you it’s me’

‘Pls i only sucked his dick ONCE!!!!!’

‘i diditnt mesan to ghurt u im sop sorrtyytggt’

‘pls dontt do theis t o uss’

‘u kno what no FUCKCK YOU SIDON II NEEVER SHOULD HAVE FIVEN-’

Its at that final text that he simply turns his phone off and, with a ferociousness he’d been trying to stifle all night, throws it hard against the side of a dumpster, a satisfying crunch letting him know it’s broken thoroughly. 

He grits his teeth as he runs his hands through his hair, pulling it from the now messy ponytail. He runs his fingernails over his scalp, perhaps a little harder than necessary, pacing around the small car park he found himself in. His anger had already left him, leaving him feeling more hollow and cold than before. Typical. 

The moment things got heavy, the moment things got tough, his vision went as red as his hair. This was the reason so many people whispered their concerns to his father. Dorephan was aging, his hair now more gray than black. He wasn’t immortal and, eventually, the Oras family would need a new leader.

 By blood, Sidon was the only person this future responsibility would fall to, the day his father died. If he couldn’t even control his temper over a few poorly worded texts, couldn’t so much as make a personal relationship last longer than six months, how the hell was he supposed to run a crime syndicate?!

He took another deep, steadying breath and closed his eyes, pulling his hair into a high but lose bun, trying to cool his neck down.

It was his birthday, dammit. His twenty-fourth birthday. This wasn’t how he’d wanted to spend it. Not at all-

The thought is cut short as something, or really someone, barrels into him.

His nerves, already frayed, all but became raw as he he hit the ground with a hard THUNK, the person who’d run into him landing just as hard right beside him. A growl of frustration rumbles in his chest as he sits up, eyes snapping open as he turns to yell.

“Can you not see? What the hell-”

He stops himself as he takes in the crumpled mess of a person next to him. He was smaller, so much smaller, than Sidon, but he looked like he’d taken more of a beating then Sidon ever had.

Blond hair half pulled from his low ponytail and darkened in spots with what Sidon could gather was blood, the man’s face was battered, his left eye swollen shut and colored purply black. Blood had made a now dried path down his face from his nostrils, a coagulated drop still clinging to his chin. The stranger looked up at him with his one good eye and, this could be the alcohol talking, Sidon was certain he had never seen a more true blue color before. 

Before he can say anything else, begin trying to apologize for his yelling, the other tosses his attention behind his shoulder, where a series of whoops and yells could be heard. It’s when he scrambles, tries to stand up, that Sidon can tell something is wrong with his leg as he lets out a yelp of pain and topples to the ground again.

“Hey man, don’t try to move, you’re hurt real ba-”

“Hey Link, where’d you go little buddy?!” The voice erupts from the nearby alley, just as a group of three other men all but burst from it.

Sidon was really, _really_ getting sick of this shit. He pulls himself back to his feet, just as the group catches sight of them. He can hear the smaller man, named Link by the sound of it, attempt another scramble to his feet as the group calls after him. Another hiss of pain tells him he’s back on the ground a moment later

“Hey there, little Linky. Did you really think-”

The biggest of them, the leader if Sidon was to guess, stopped cold as his eyes fixated on Sidon. The other two paused, following the biggest one’s line of sight, freezing too once they got a good look at him.

Sidon looked the three of them over, cocking an eyebrow as best as his tipsy self could. He was bigger than all of them but, god, trying to take on three people alone was tough, even in the best of conditions. Still, he wasn’t one to let someone face an unfair fight alone.

“You boys looking for trouble?” He said, placing himself between Link and the three thugs with a few clean strides.

“N-nah, not at all. J-just passing through, you know? Just joshing around, right guys?” The other two were nodding before he had even finished.

"By the looks of my friend here,” Sidon tilts his head back towards Link, “I’m kind of inclined to think you’re lying to me.”

“Nah Sidon, it’s no big thin-” it was the smaller of the three who had spoken, cut off suddenly by a swift elbow to the sternum, a little _oof_ sound escaping him. 

Sidon couldn’t help the look of confusion that crossed over his features. He studied their faces closely now, their outfits, their body language. He was tipsy, but he wasn’t dumb. Nothing about them stood out; not their plain jeans, plain faces, plain cut hair. They were cookie cutter goonies, made to blend into the background and disappear without a trace. It sobered Sidon up quickly and a part of him was glad he had kept his private phone on hand.

“Why do you know my name?”

“It’s nothing, just give us the guy you’re in front of an-”

“I asked, why do you know my name?!”

Maybe it was the tone of his voice. Maybe it was the slight slur of his speech. Maybe it was because he was son to Dorephan Oras.

Whatever the reason, the three thugs turned tail and ran into the night without another word or look behind their shoulders. Once they were well gone, Sidon turned on his heel, looking Link in the eye.

“So,” he began, his voice now low and gentle, “mind telling me what’s going on?”

Link looked at him, his hand absentmindedly rubbing at his hurt ankle. The were a lot of things Sidon saw in those eyes: fear, pain, but most of all, an anger that he could relate to.

He didn’t realize it then, but a small part of him had already fallen for the man with those true blue eyes.


	2. Thankful for the Pain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Link recalls old words.

_Strength is forged through pain; to be strong is to live, so be thankful for the pain._

A mantra that he cannot pinpoint to a specific person or place or time, it was like a heavy blanket that wrapped itself around nearly every memory he had. He knows, vaguely at least, that there was a time before the Lans, before Ira had adopted him, before every awful thing that had come after.

But now was not the time to linger on such things. Not with his ankle throbbing in pain under the gentle touch of his own hand and face pulsating around his injured eye.  

“Hey, can you hear me?”

Link’s attention is drawn outward by the sound of a voice. He looks up, not missing the painful tug of a pulled muscle in his neck, and is met with the most lovely pair of hazel eyes. A part of him, old and buried by the years, knows he’s seen eyes just like this before. A name springs to mind because, regardless of the time between then and now, he would never be able to forgive himself for her death.

_Mipha._

This was her brother Sidon, her little _diletto_ , that she had spoken so highly of. Grown and with hazel eyes just like hers.

He freezes his thoughts then and numbs his heart to the prickling stabs the realization. Now was not the time. Now was not the-

Suddenly, those hazel eyes are level with his own, and he realizes Sidon has, with a certain amount of drunken clumsiness, crouched down in front of him.

“They must have whacked you in the head pretty hard then, huh? Lemme call a squad or something to take you to the hos-”

He doesn’t let Sidon finish, shaking his head despite his pain.

“Oh, so you can hear me. That’s good at least. Do you think you can try to walk?”

Try and do had the grandest gap between them, really they did. His attempts to scramble to his feet had ended poorly, to say the least. Even still, now without the threat of being caught clawing at his heels and making his heart pound in his throat, it wouldn’t hurt to try it again.

Pulling his feet under him, he put weight on his good leg. So far so good.

Carefully, tentatively, he went to put weight on his hurt ankle. It was sore and thumped with a shallow soreness, but it wasn’t unbearable. He put more weight to it and, when the pain remained unchanged, he slowly stood up, still placing most of the weight to his good leg.

He kept his face blank, but on the inside roared with triumph. Perfect, now if he could just find his way to an escape stash and keep those three bozos off his trail, he would be just fine.

Probably. Maybe. Hopefully.

The thought was dashed from his head as he experimentally equalized the weight both his feet bared and immediately regretted it. The same shooting pain that had him falling the first two times he’d tried this was there again, clawing up his leg and forcing him to suddenly throw all his weight to his good foot. The sudden shift in weight had him teetering, tottering, and then falling. His balance had never been the best and certainly was done no favors by being socked in the head earlier in the night.

His arms shot out instinctively as he hugged his chin to his chest, waiting for impact. Instead, he found a strong arm catching him around the waist.

“Whoa whoa whoa there, I said _try_ to stand, not fall on your ass.”

Link catches the beginnings of a smile tug at the younger man’s face and part of him wishes he could retort back, finish a joke, to thank him, anything at all. This guy, much bigger then himself at least, had willingly just stood between him and three of Ira’s Lans’ personal lackeys. All for stranger, no less.

Just like his sister.

He does what he can to let the thought pass through him harmlessly, now balanced once more on his good foot, using Sidon’s offered arm as an anchor.

“You’re not much one for talk, are you?”

Link can’t help the roll of his eyes as he instinctively turns his head fully to Sidon, opened his mouth, and stuck out what remained of his tongue. He knew it wasn’t a pleasant sight, but not because of the surprise that filled Sidon’s eyes. Jagged edges and matching scars along the inside of his cheeks told anyone who looked that it had been cut, poorly, from his mouth. The scar was nearly fourteen years old now, just one year older then when his speech had been taken from him, but it always felt like just yesterday that he could easily talk.

He’s quick to snap his mouth shut once more, his point made.

“...well, that’s got to work as a conversation starter in some way, right?”

Link cracks what he knows is a rare grin as he cocks an eyebrow in Sidon’s direction. He could not say that anyone before had reacted quite like that, all sarcasm and smirks. He could feel Sidon’s chuckle at his own joke shake the arm he was using for support.

“Look,” he started, chuckle still lingering in his voice, “are you sure you don’t me to call someone for you? Even if it’s just a friend or family or-”

Again, Link shook his head firmly.

He had no friends. No family. Anyone he might have once called that was either dead, in jail, or trying to kick his ass. Before he could do anything else, Sidon had pulled a phone from his back pocket, and pressed a number. Link could hear it not even ring fully once before their was a voice one the other end.

“Hey Magnus...yeah no I’m fine, I promise. I’m out over by the southern border and need a ride...nah, I didn’t cross over, but I met what I think might have been some Lans goons on our side of the bor-yeah, no I said I was fine. Yeah, no, Magnus that's not necessary, just a car please...tell Bazz I can hear him in the backg-yeah sure, tell him he can pick me up..."

A cold pit formed in Link’s stomach as Sidon spoke. He was the only son of Dorephan Oras, of course he’d let his father’s associates know the moment someone so much as potentially broke the truce. This could be bad. This could be very, very bad for him-

“Nah, I’m not sure why they were this way. They were just walking around and bolted once they got a good look at me...yeah, I’m sure. Yeah. Yeah. Tell him I'm at the 11-7 by Chico's Bar. Ok, I’ll hang tight.”

Link’s thoughts ground to a halt as he let what Sidon had said sink in. He’d made no mention of Link, not even a peep. He watched the redhead, taking in every ounce of his body language that he could. He bore no tension in his shoulders, no worry hung on his brow; just a careful, easy clamness hung around him. That, and the very faint smell of a bar.

He was lying through his teeth and he hadn't so much batted an eye. If he knew who it was that he had unceremoniously rescued, perhaps that would be a different story. But it wasn't and, for the time being, Link breathed a sigh of relief.

Sidon had since ended the call and slipped the old phone back into a pocket. He now had his attention turned to Link, the hand that had been glued to his hip reaching out to offer him a hand. Link took it, glad to have the additional means of balance available to him once more.

“Alright look, my friend should be coming to pick us up in a few minutes. Just,” the look Sidon gave him was unreadable, “if you can’t go to the hospital and got no one to help you, stay at my place. At least for tonight. You look like shit, honestly.”

Link snorted out a short, mirthless laugh.

Yeah, that was probably being too nice. He sighed, turning his attention back to the alley he had come from.

His thoughts quickly turned to the sort of night he'd had so far; the door of his piss-hole of an apartment being broken down. The feeling of knuckles cracking against his face once, twice, thrice. The taste of blood in his mouth, the smell of copper deep in his nose. The terror of running, running, running, like he’d been doing for years.

A soft voice, old and familiar and kind, slices through his thoughts like a lighthouse in the dark.

_"Link, if you are ever in trouble, please find my family. They will help you. I promise you, they will help.”_

It had been the last thing Mipha had ever said to him. She’d been the one person who had offered him a hand, a smile, or even so much as a truly kind word. If he couldn’t trust that, then what could he trust?

He nodded, answering Sidon's question, just as a black car tore into the tiny carpark, a voice from the driver’s side crying out into the night.

“Bazz is in the house bitches! Heard some dumbass mob kid needed a pickup!”

Link stared as Sidon's laughter bubbled forth once more. He really did have a nice laugh.


End file.
